


Tempest in a Teacup

by Just_another_shipper



Series: Tumblr drabbles [1]
Category: Death Note
Genre: Here is a drabble from tumblr, M/M, This is literally just 300 words worth of metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9611717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_another_shipper/pseuds/Just_another_shipper
Summary: Sometimes, L thought it ironic that B almost killed himself by self-immolation.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sybilius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/gifts).



> I’ve never really sat down and tried to write a BBxL fic (though I have plans for a one-shot eventually), so I apologize if it’s incredibly OOC. This kind of turned into a 300 word drabble that’s nothing but random metaphors vaguely related to storms/the sea, but I’m pretty happy with it. 
> 
> This drabble came from a fic prompt that Sybilius gave me on tumblr, the prompt was: BBxL, prompt is 'storm'
> 
> I’m calling it Tempest in a Teacup because I am still emo in the year of our lord 2017 and Fall Out Boy still owns my soul. 
> 
> But hey, at least the title isn't from a Latin poet this time ;)

Sometimes, L thought it ironic that B almost killed himself by self-immolation because:

 

B was a tempest and sometimes L felt like a boat at sea, frantically trying not to capsize in the waves, but other times L was the waves themselves, playing joyfully in the wind of the storm, happily capsizing any boat that dared to brave them at their worst.

 

B was a siren and L was Odysseus, desperately pleading with his men to let him go free and drown in the ocean of his own making. L thought he wanted nothing, needed nothing, but B was his perfect drug, a criminal and a lover twisted up in an unholy union and dressed up with an ever-changing face and eyes that saw far too much. Sometimes, L thought he would never be able to regret knowing him, would never be able to regret  _ wanting _ him. Sometimes it was better to want nothing at all.

 

And on occasion, in that fragile space between the end of one case and the itch for the next, B was also like the eye of the hurricane that was their lives. When L was shaking apart after giving in and getting another hit, when L was desperate for any distraction from his brain that was constantly racing  _ on, and on, and on, _ when B saw something that shouldn’t exist and couldn’t  _ not think about it _ and they curled up together until they resembled an ouroboros and couldn’t quite tell where one of them began and the other ended and B was whispering, “ _ Lawliet _ ” in his ear, sickly sweet and terribly fragile.

 

It was so unfair that B almost died in a fire because to L he was a ravaging storm, a force of nature that could destroy anything that had the audacity to get in his path. And it was true, in its own way. Eventually every storm dies out, gives up to the unrelenting nature of time. And B was always living on stolen time, was always acutely aware of how much time everyone else had, and even if he didn’t know how much time he had left, B was the romantic, he stole every moment, until he had no choice but to collapse. 


End file.
